


Brothers

by mjspickett



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Brothers, Coming of Age, Dragons, Excitement, Family, Fantasy, Gods, Gods Among Dragons Saga - Freeform, Hatred, Kalama, Love, M.J. Spickett, Magic, Magik - Freeform, Mystery, Novel, Other, Ranariki, Scourers, Series, Sweden - Freeform, Tragedy, Uppsala, Victory, Vikings, YA Novel, beyond, cripled, disabled, gifted, greed - Freeform, jettara, magick, mjspickett, old word, overcoming challenges, saga, sorcery, spickett, young adult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:17:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8798830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjspickett/pseuds/mjspickett
Summary: Eighteen years ago Vidar saved his new born brother from certain death by hiding him in the furs a neighboring chief had bought in trade, never expecting to see the infant again. Little did he know that the man would not only adopt the baby but name him his heir. Now Vidar wants his brother back and he'll go to any length to accomplish his goals.Born small, disfigured and an instant outcast, Eiryk is found and adopted by Uppsala Chief Asmund Redhairs and raised amongst some of the fiercest warriors and dragons of the Archipelago. Eiryk doesn't exactly fit in but when Vidar, new chief of the Ranariki, comes for him, Eiryk's world is suddenly turned upside down as revelations of just who he really is come to light. Now he must join with Vidar to stop a madman intent on stripping those with magik of their powers who has his sight set firmly on Eiryk and his unique gifts.A novel by MJ Spickett





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is an excerpt of a novel originally written as a fanfiction by Jettara but was selected to be reworked into an original book series.

When Eiryk was born he was just this tiny little thing born late one winter night during the worse weather imaginable, two months before the predicted date and given no name. Not only was he early, which did happen from time to time, but he was born disfigured with his left foot and leg twisted, the foot barely formed which meant he would never be able to walk or run without assistance. The midwife had made a strange frightened sound when she first held the infant, mumbling under her breath before bundling the child and passing him off to his exhausted mother. It was a bad omen, the midwife had said as she hurriedly passed her chief. A curse from the Gods  
Vidar was only four at the time. He was there when the baby was born and his mother had cradled the infant with loving arms as he peered down at his new little brother, so tiny and silent that he looked too fragile to survive the harsh Northern cold. He remembered the tears in his mother’s eyes as she stared into her younger son’s bright emerald green ones with fear and sadness. The cruel wind whipped around their hut with a shrill cry as if the Gods were calling out for the new child. Maarika knew what Vidar did not at the time; that the baby could not stay.

Garrick, Vidar’s father and chief of the tribe, stared down at the baby in utter disgust. He was a man of war, tall and broad of shoulders and could not abide even the remote idea of having a child within their tribe that was not born strong and healthy, especially while a visiting chieftain was in the village for the annual peace treaty signing, one that had lasted days longer than planned due to the harsh winter storm. He took one look at the small bundle in his wife’s arms before taking it from her, swaddled in numerous furs and blankets and strolled out to the Great Hall in the center of the village. Maarika didn’t dare follow or try to defend the child. She was weakened by the fall that had induced her into early labor and could barely stand let alone fight, and to fight her chief was to ensure that she shared the same fate as their newborn son. Vidar, however, did not understand this and he followed the large man. He listened carefully as his father announced that this new child, his baby brother, would be given to the Gods as a sacrifice to end the months of long winter and bring a bountiful spring. The villagers cheered. They did not see the infant as a curse but as a vital blessing that would help appease the Gods, for surely the sacrifice of a chieftain’s child would bring great happiness to the All Father, Odin.

Despite the cold and snow, the harsh winds that tore at heavy furs, a procession of villagers trekked out through the mountains and up to the sacrificial alcove where many a child had died before him, believed to have been taken by the Gods but most likely eaten by wolves or dragons that roamed these sacred lands. Vidar waited, hidden amongst the legs of his tribesmen, his little hands and feet cold even in his thick fur boots and heavy mittens. No one paid him any mind believing he, like them, was there to bid farewell to the infant and show his respect to the Gods. The sound of the infant crying mixed with the howls of the wind. Garrick gave a formal speech, condemning the child to death while begging Odin to accept him and bless their tribe and the land they lived upon. As if by magik the wind calmed and clouds parted to allow the moon and stars to shine upon them.  
Indeed it looked as if Odin accepted the baby, and soon, bit-by-bit, the tribesmen returned to the village and put the infant in the back of their minds until only Vidar was left, shivering and cold, listening to the pathetic cries of his brother. Vidar had always been a good boy. He always did as his father told him even when the man was angry and abusive. He was only four but understood that one day he would be chief of their tribe and that he had to be strong and able to lead their people. He could not show weakness. Only the strong survived. Yet, as he listened to those sad little sobs, he knew he wasn’t like his father and that allowing a child to die was wrong. 

He crept up to the ledge where the infant lie, still bundled tightly, and crying pitifully from being left alone in the cold. The infant’s lips had already taken on a pale blue tint, the cold seeping into his tiny body. He fell silent when Vidar reached out for him, his green eyes bright and captivating, almost magikal in a way. Vidar could not turn back now, so captivated was he by his small brother. He gathered the infant in his arms and cooed softly, assuring his brother he was safe now and that he would always protect him even if he wasn’t sure how. His brother was no larger than a doll and so easy to hide under his furs and carry, even for one as young and small as Vidar. Almost immediately, his brother fell utterly silent and only made the smallest of hiccupped sobs as he turned into Vidar’s warmth. Vidar made the long trek back to the village, passing his own hut, unsure where he was going; as if his actions were guided by another, perhaps a higher power. The storm had cleared and cold ebbed away, giving him courage when he should be very much afraid. His little feet carried him down the path to a barn where the visiting chieftain’s large sled and dog team were kept out of the storm for the night. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching before climbing inside and slipping under a heavy pile of furs no doubt meant for trade. He curled around the infant, exhausted and cold. What was he going to do now? He couldn’t take the baby home; their father would be very cross with him and may drown his brother this time. 

The baby warbled and cooed, his little arms untangling from the swaddling to knot in Vidar’s hair with surprising strength. The older boy smiled softly and began to hum a lullaby their mother often sung to him at bedtime but would never be able to sing to this small child. He would never know the love that filled their mother.

“The sky is dark and the hills are white,  
As the storm-king speeds from north tonight;  
And this is the song of the storm-king sings,  
“Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep”;  
He rustles his wings and gruffly sings:  
“Sleep, little one, sleep.”  
On yonder mountainside a vine,  
Clings at the foot of a mother pine;  
The tree bends over the trembling thing,  
And only the vine can hear her sing:  
“Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;  
What shall you fear when I am here?  
Sleep, little one, sleep.”  
The king may sing in his bitter flight,  
The pine may croon to the vine to-night,  
But the little snowflake at my breast  
Liketh the song I sing the best, ---  
“Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;  
Weary thou art, next to my heart;  
Sleep, little one, sleep.”

The warmth of the furs soon lulled them both to sleep. 

When morning came so did the calls of Vidar’s name. The boy awoke with a start and was left with a desperate decision. He couldn’t take his brother home; their father would be cross and kill them both, but it was Vidar’s job to keep his brother safe. So he did the only thing he could; he left the baby hidden in the visiting chieftain’s sled in hopes that the man would give the infant a fighting chance, before darting off into the village to attend his parents. Nonetheless, he watched with keen eyes as the visiting chief left, not seeming to notice the precious cargo he carried with him back to his tribe. A gift from Vidar that one day he planned to reclaim.

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To learn more about the Gods Among Dragons saga of purchase the full novel of Brothers please visit me at [www.mjspickett.com ](http://www.mjspickett.com)  
Brothers is the copy of M.J. Spickett 2013 & 2016


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